Stolen: Blue Barbarian Series Read online

  STOLEN

  Valencia & Atareek

  Rena Marks

  Stolen

  Rena Marks

  Book 5 in the Blue Barbarian series.

  Abducted by aliens and taken to a strange new planet is hard enough. It’s even more difficult when you don’t speak anyone’s language—not that of the strange, blue barbarians native to the land, nor that of the other humans stolen from Earth.

  But this is my chance to make a different lifetime for myself. A life where no one knows I delivered babies for a living. To know I alone was the village midwife, solely responsible for life and death situations.

  Until the first hybrid baby is born, when my destiny suddenly smacks me in the face.

  * Publisher’s Note: While each Blue Barbarian Series book is a standalone, the greatest enjoyment will come from reading them in series order.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chasing Violet

  Abducted

  Stranded

  Taken

  Captive

  Stargazer Series

  The Hunter

  Kiss Me Before I Die

  Shared By Wolves

  About the Author

  Also by Rena Marks

  Chapter One

  Strong blue arms hold me close while I sleep. I’m spooned against a warm, hard body and it is truly the best place in the world. While I may miss my family and friends, it seems like such a lifetime ago. That lifetime may be over, but it molded me for this one.

  Here I have a new family and friends. If truth be known, these friends are my family. They’re true friends, not the friends I was used to. The users. The ones who called me a bruja behind my back, yet begged me to deliver their babies when the time came.

  This planet makes me happy. I’m in it for the long haul and with Atareek by my side, a sexy blue barbarian native to this planet. I feel invincible. It wasn’t always that way, though.

  I was terrified when I first woke up on the Drurian spacecraft. I thought I was dreaming, but as time went on, a niggling terror told me this wasn’t a dream. It had been my first visit to the United States, and I didn’t know a lick of English. It was just by chance that I was even given the opportunity to travel there.

  I lived in a tiny village near the Mayan ruins. Women were brought to me from all sorts of unsafe distances just to have their babies delivered by me. Not everyone in our country can afford hospitals, and even if they could, the vast majority would still prefer my services. But my life was changed forever by an American woman.

  Her husband’s job had transferred him to Mexico to accomplish a building project, but it was taking longer than he expected. His pregnant wife wasn’t due yet, but the longer the project took, the closer it was getting to her time. She’d come to see me because she was preparing for a just-in-case scenario.

  She’d brought her housekeeper, who translated for us.

  “Curandera, she is willing to pay you well to come live on the resort for the next couple of months. There is no guarantee that she will have her child, but you will be paid for vacationing by her side,” Socorro says.

  I smile gently. “Please tell her that is impossible. I have way too many clients to leave for a couple of months. I have never taken a vacation, and I do not see the need.”

  “She is terrified of hospitals, especially those in strange countries.”

  “I am sorry, but labor takes a great while. If she would like, she is welcome to send for me when she feels her first pain. I cannot promise that I can drop everything and leave, but I will do my best.”

  “She really wants you,” Socorro whispers. “She is a nice lady. She has heard the story of the baby Hector, where the cord was wrapped around his neck. And how you saved him from the brain damage that was sure to occur.”

  “I hate rumors,” I confide back. “They grow bigger and better and make me out to be some sort of magical goddess that I simply cannot live up to.”

  But truth be known, I do have a magical touch with childbirth. And I have saved many newborns from an inescapable fate they would have faced at a hospital.

  “She is terrified beyond belief. This is her third pregnancy. She carried the other two infants to full term…and lost them due to labor complications.”

  Just then the American woman babbles something out, and Socorro’s eyes widen. “She is offering more money than you will ever see in your lifetime. And says that if you wish, she will pay for your education to become a doctor.”

  I live simply and I enjoy my life. I shake my head. “I do not need money. And I am accomplishing safe child birthing without medical training now. I believe we have lost the way with modern medicine. My mothers and babies are healthier and happier by doing things the old way, without the bright lights and sterile rooms of hospitals. The births are less stressful and things do not go as wrong as they do under a doctor’s care.”

  Socorro repeats my refusal, and the American looks dejected. I feel sorry for her, but I cannot forego village women for just one. Even if they do whisper about me when I walk by.

  “Tell her I am sorry, and my best offer is that she can send for me when her time comes.”

  Socorro nods, but before she can begin repeating the translation, the woman gasps. She clutches her belly, and fluid rushes down the expensive pink fabric of her pants.

  “It appears she will get her wish,” I say, matter-of-factly. “You will need to stay and translate.”

  * * * * *

  The infant is small, but healthy as he wails. I had dispatched village youths back to the resort to notify her husband about what had happened.

  The mother is beyond ecstatic. Tears cover her face as she rubs the baby’s back, pressing his tiny naked body to her warmth.

  “She wants to know why he is not eating,” Socorro says.

  “Tell her he still carries nutrients from the umbilical cord. He will not feel hunger right away. He has enough nourishment for a long while.” My lip tightens.

  That is another hospital misguidance, making women feel as though they are inadequate because an infant does not latch onto the breast immediately after birth. Hunger is what brings out the newborn’s latching instinct, not a mother’s adequacy or lack thereof. Still, so many mothers are chastised by the educated doctors that they feel guilt, and when forced, the child does latch. But frustration grows because the wan sucking does not release the beginning milk immediately. Then the mother’s stress hormones kick in, preventing more release of milk. It is a vicious cycle.

  I continue with my instructions. “He is small due to being born so early. He needs constant warmth and cuddling. But he is healthy. Tell her not to worry about that.”

  A hospital would have incubated the infant, providing the warmth, but changing his sleeping pattern with bright lights and lack of human touch. Eventually the interrupted sleep cycles would cause other issues, nervous disorders and chemical imbalances in the brain. The child would be diagnosed as hyperactive and would be medicated. A waste of a normal delivery. However, doctors are convinced they know more than me, a backwoods midwife.

  Just then her husband is brought into the hut, and he never had time to change from the expensive three-piece business suit he wore to work that morning. Someone provided him with suitable shoes, however. My roads are not paved, and I imagine his dress shoes would
have been slippery against the mud and gravel. With tears in his eyes, he kisses his wife, and they talk back and forth. Socorro moves closer to me.

  “He cannot believe this child is healthy. He was sure they were going to lose another. Especially as she was not due for another four weeks. He is telling her that they need to hurry for the hospital. She is refusing because she says she is not exposing the baby to all those sick germs when there is no need.” Socorro smiles. “She has listened to your instructions well. The baby is perfectly healthy but small.”

  Her husband calms as he looks at the baby, putting his pinky finger in the little one’s tiny fist.

  “I imagine they will stay a couple of days,” I say.

  They do more than that. They send for food from the resort, and feed the entire village where I live. People have never eaten so well. I imagine the whispers behind my back will lessen after this one.

  I keep in contact with the American, Lori—Socorro always present—for the next several months while her husband finishes his project. Together, we watch her baby grow fatter and bigger. Finally, on the last day, Lori presses an envelope of papers into my hands.

  “She knows you do not wish medical training,” Socorro says. “But she says this is a passport and plane ticket and plenty of cash. She wishes for you to visit her in the States whenever you would like. An all-expense paid trip.”

  I have grown attached to the chubby little imp who suckles at her breast, so I agree. Two months later, I spend one week in the States. It is on that return trip home when I am abducted by monsters.

  The limousine drops me off at the hotel, where I can relax before my return flight home. I have several hours still and will walk the gardens. A shuttle will take me the short distance to my departure gate, and I do not even have luggage to carry. It has been handled and delivered for me.

  There are herbs in the hotel garden—rosemary, thyme, and sage. Even a bit of mint. It is a hybrid plant, and I cannot tell if it is peppermint or spearmint. But for some reason, my stomach has been anxious all day. I am ready to return home, there is no doubt about that. Yet seeing another country has shown me an entirely different way of life. As I sit and try to relax, the acids in my stomach burn. An uncomfortable tingle burns the back of my neck.

  I decide to meditate—to pray to the Mayan gods for protection. I reach for a piece of mint, and chew it to settle my stomach. Then I close my eyes.

  A whoosh sweeps through my stomach. I open my mouth to gasp, and I’m surprised when I do not hear the influx of air. Slowly I open my eyes.

  The air all around me is a deep, dark red, and I’m hovering about ten feet over the bench in the herb garden. Surely I must be having a vision during my meditation, though I didn’t recall slipping into the meditative state yet.

  I am glad for the protective qualities of the mint in my mouth. It calms me, because this vision seems so real. I close my eyes and breathe deeply.

  It’s the last thing I remember.

  Atareek—the love of my life—senses my racing heartbeat, and he stirs. His large hand moves up from my waist to cup my breast, and he kisses the top of my head. Then there is a rattling at the doorway before a head juts in through the curtain we use as doors.

  “Valencia.” The throaty female voice is a low whisper. “Niki is in labor.”

  The only one who knows of my past is Tessa. She and I became friends and were originally going to share a cave together, but I moved in with Atareek instead. Tessa now lives with both Tijar and Jeroc.

  I open an eye, turning in Atareek’s strong arms even as he turns to see who is at our door.

  “She’s having difficulty?” I ask.

  She nods. “It’s her nerves mostly. Being the first one to have a hybrid baby. And she thinks the gestation is too early, which has sent her into a panic. Reverent mother thinks the baby’s breach. And…” Tessa breathes deep. “Miranda suspects the cord may be twisting around the baby’s neck.”

  That is enough reason for Tessa to break her promise about not revealing my past. While I had never forced the promise from her, it was understood between us that only a priority would extract that.

  “I’m sorry,” she says.

  I smile to reassure her. “It’s all right. Part of me knew it had to come out eventually. I guess I just wanted to have a longer reprieve. But that was selfish of me. I’ve had over a year off from delivering babies.”

  “Come in and wait, Tessa,” Atareek says, slipping from the furs without a qualm. Nudity is a way of life for Blaedonians, but Tessa averts her eyes. I know why—she has a heightened sex drive and tries hard to be respectful of others.

  I kiss Atareek. He is the sweetest man on the planet. He kisses me back before dressing, and brings me my clothes. I dress quickly, tying a leather band around my breasts to act as a bra. My breasts are larger than most, even though we all have less body fat after living on this planet for a year. But heredity follows me, and I am shaped like Tessa. We both have large breasts, tiny-waists, and curvy hips, good for birthing. Like Tessa, I may never choose to have children. Niki, on the other hand, is smaller. Athletic. And this will be a large baby, if the size of his father means anything.

  I turn so Tessa can tie my leather band at my back. Normally Atareek does it and when he’s off hunting, I tie it in front. But I prefer it tied in back, it’s more comfortable.

  “I wondered how you kept the girls in line,” she murmurs, looking down at her own large breasts.

  “I will give you one of my bras,” I laugh. “Atareek will make me more.”

  “Anything you wish,” he confirms, bringing me a flask of water and a toothbrush branch. It’s a small, hand-sized branch with stiffened outgrowth like bristles on one end. It’s not toothbrush shaped, more like a large cotton swab. But it foams nicely, and during the summer months we chew a leaf that tastes like mint. I brush my mouth quickly, and he brings me a bowl to spit in. I tie my long hair up in a ponytail on top my head, and kiss my man. I really don’t know what I’d do without him.

  I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.

  “Let’s go,” I say to Tessa.

  Because this delivery will be an adventure.

  Chapter Two

  The walk to the healing hut is somber. In the hallway leading up to it, several people mill about, worried looks strewn across their faces. We rattle the knocker to the door before entering the fur-draped door. Inside is the Carmelac, the drummer, along with Lachlana—the reverent mother—Drakar, and Niki. The soft sounds of drums are focusing on calming Niki’s nerves. If truth be known, Drakar’s also. Our leader is strong and has never had to think about his own mortality. Now, faced with the love he has for his human mate, that strength is challenged.

  “She’s in pain,” he snaps, as soon as he sees Tessa and me.

  “It is called labor, my son,” reverent mother says, calm as can be.

  “Hello, Niki,” I say. “Can we get you up onto the bed so I can check you?”

  Niki is panting, leaning up against the raised bed, with her head down on it, but her feet on the floor. She nods, looking miserable. Drakar helps her up, and he stays up by her side. Tessa gets a thin, soft sheet of leather to drape over her legs, and stands up near her other arm, holding her hand. I manipulate her stomach, feeling for the shape of the infant, and give her an internal exam.

  Definitely breech.

  I take a quick look at reverent mother. “You’ve been the only one who delivers babies?”

  She nods. “I have trained others throughout the years. But it is always me.”

  “You manually turn them?”

  She nods again, with a quick look at Niki.

  Niki groans. “I feel another pain coming.”

  “Okay, Niki. Do not bear down. Breathe through the pain. Miranda and Tessa will help you.”

  “With humans,” I say to reverent mother, “a breech birth can sort itself out in the last possible moments. And there are different kinds of breech. Bottom first, feet first, or e
ven one foot. The easiest breech is bottom up, because usually the baby is curled and the limbs protected. We call it a complete.”

  “How can you tell a baby’s form through the…” she searches for the word. “We call it an ekseta. The casing that separates the baby from the mother?”

  Miranda speaks up. “The placenta. The Blaedonians are different. Theirs is stiff…soft-shelled, almost.”

  I take a deep breath to mask my horror. I don’t want the responsibility of delivering a child for someone when I’m going in blind. We have no idea which Blaedonian and which human traits Niki will have during this labor and delivery.

  “If the…ekseta doesn’t break on its own, do you pierce it?”

  Reverent mother nods. “Only at the last possible moment. We do things as naturally as possible to avoid infections.”

  “And it’s filled with fluid, correct?” I want to be sure exactly what I’m dealing with here, and that it acts as a normal placenta.

  She nods again. “Ekseta fluid.”

  “We call it amniotic fluid.”

  “There is going to be a lot of knowledge to share,” reverent mother says, and her voice is calm. Probably for Niki’s benefit. “It is why I requested Lucie and Miranda both be here. They were present for Byndi’s delivery. For each future delivery, I would think we should have others present so that we may all have knowledge of how to care for each other.”

  “That’s a good idea,” I murmur. And it is. Perhaps if humans had done this, I wouldn’t have been so overwhelmed back on my planet.

  Niki’s moans grow louder, and I wonder how the hell I’m supposed to turn this baby if the placenta is in a shell form. Lord, please let the placenta follow a human form, I pray silently.

  “I need to push,” she pants.

  “No,” I say, and allow my voice to ring harshly. It shocks her, which is the effect I desire. “I don’t want you to push until the urge can no longer be squelched.”

  “It’s hard not to,” she pants.